A Life Worth Living
by T.B. Stormshot
Summary: The Earth was lost to Crayak after Rachel refused his offer, and he blamed the Drode for it. But the Drode will not die without the Ellimist having his way with him first. And so a new bet is born in which the Drode is the pawn. And now he's human.
1. Default Chapter

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A Life Worth Living

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By: T.B. Stormshot   
  
I _warned_ the Drode that I would make a story about him turning human. He thought I was bluffing. Heh, WELL THIS SHOWS HIM! BWAHHAHAHHEHWAHAHAHA!   
  
Believe it or not, this is angst, drama, self-discovery, and humor rolled up into one. It'll all depend on the situation I suppose. So far it's coming out to be a pretty good story... and I'm really tired of ME producing all the really good stories about the Drode. Currently It seems I'm the only writer who plainly LIKES him! (currently) ... what the heck is WRONG with all of you?? *looks confused and dismayed* He was the best Animorph character ever, and he didn't DIE (there's a story behind that)   
  
On another note, to all those participating in, or reading Interactive 6.0!!!, I'm currently taking a break from that story. In fact, the reason why it is no longer appearing on Fanfiction.Net is because they went off and DELETED it. Because it did not follow their new rule banning interactive stories... I will eventually put it back up, but when it does eventually, it will pick up a different title-NonInteractive 6.0!!!. Right now I'm going to wallow in self-pity though... I specifically said that it was cancelled for the moment in the summary...   
  


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Disclaimer: I don't own the Animorphs, but if I did have a shot at it, I'd go for the exclusive rights to the Drode. Because he's just that cool. 

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The landscape was a barren one, bereft of all life except for a scattering of stunted, wizened trees, and not many of those either. The ground was only a covering of reddish-brown dust that picked up at the slightest breeze and covered anything in its path with a thick covering of dirt. The sky was dark, but not from night for the sun was at its highest peak. But rather from a dense covering of hazy discolored clouds that rolled violently, lightning glowing among them in a foreboding way. The vague sun might have barely been noticed beyond the clouds at their thinnest point.   
  
This was the land of Crayak, a wasteland of hate. No kindness ever reached inside its keep, pity and mercy were simply words, and love was less than even that. A depressing place for any who dared to walk its surface and lived long enough to comment on it. At least those that were not used to it.   
  
The Drode was, but that was not why he did not notice the dark mirth of his surroundings, but rather because he was too frightened to really care about anything beyond his nose. The Drode was practically fearless, not by nature of course but rather long practice that came from the power of near-omnipotency. However, right then he was afraid. Not only that, but he was barely keeping himself from the verge of panicking and becoming a blubbering wreck.   
  
The Drode had done a stupid thing, a very stupid thing. He had failed Crayak, and now he was waiting to die. The Drode sweated heavily, breathing harshly through tightly clenched teeth.   
  
_DRODE._ A silent yet terrible voice shouted, the Drode heard and only chose to tighten his hold on the illusion he held over himself of a dwarfed tree. A pathetic attempt to hide from the terrible voice which was the source of the Drode's fear.   
  
Crayak was coming to get him. To kill him for his failures. The Drode had made a mistake, a big mistake. Crayak had lost Earth, and he was blaming the Drode for it. Which meant the Drode was going to die. So the Drode was doing the only thing he could think of, he couldn't run, he couldn't fight, so he hid. He hid like a sniveling coward, but then again, in the dark light of Crayak no one could call themselves brave and also be sane. And though the Drode was often the accused, he was quite sane.   
  
_DRODE, DON'T HIDE FROM ME._ Came the voice again. The Drode's small hands were damp with sweat and trembled violently, but he paid no attention, choosing to exert his energy into the illusion, trying to make it as real as possible so as not to attract the attention of the eye of Crayak. A useless gesture. The Drode's power was Crayak's own, and Crayak always knew where his power laid. The Drode knew this, and some faintly rational part of him deep inside chided him for his foolish act, but the more fearful, unthinking side of him which was usually buried was now in control and would not be guided with reason.   
  
_DRODE._ Crayak's terrible voice came again, and though just as horrible as before, this time it carried a final note. The Drode knew he had been found, he _knew._ The Drode was unable to cry, his physical structure had not included tear ducts, but he was aware of a high-pitched, almost inaudible whining coming from deep inside his throat. It was a sound he had not heard in a long time. A sound his kind made under intense fear or pain. The Drode was only afraid right then, but he would soon be in pain as well.   
  
The Drode knew that it was useless and draining to keep the illusion up now, but somehow he could not bring himself to tear down the woven walls of power, the illusion itself seemed to give off a sense of protection. A false hope, but all he could cling to.   
  
_DRODE._ Crayak's voice came again, and suddenly the Drode felt part of his power suddenly ripped away from him, it was soul-wrenching-if the Drode indeed had a soul-and the Drode gasped in pain from the gesture and collapsed to his knees. Unable to keep up the illusion, the tree simply faded away, leaving the Drode alone on the barren landscape. All alone, except for the looming shadow which towered over him, and the harsh red glow which centered him out. The Drode did not get up and did not _dare_ to look up, instead keeping his eyes to the ground below him. He trembled with terror.   
  
"L-Lord," the Drode stammered, "I-I-"   
  
_YOU HAVE FAILED ME._ Crayak shouted as his voice echoed inside the Drode's head.   
  
"NO! NO Lord Crayak! Please! I have not failed you!" the Drode shouted in a panicked voice, so panicked he looked up once and found that the eye of Crayak was the sky. The Drode wanted to burst into hysterics but found himself unable to speak, his fright was so great. He looked towards the ground again, his breath was uneven, and he blinked to keep sweat from blurring his vision.   
  
_YOU HAVE FAILED ME AND NOW THE EARTH IS LOST TO ME. YOU HAVE FAILED._ Crayak's voice bellowed, blinding out any thoughts the Drode might have had. The voice which was not heard was huge, enveloping every crevice of the Drode's intelligent mind, overpowering, the type that made you go insane from the sheer power of it. The Drode did not go insane, he was too frightened to think already.   
  
"It wasn't me! It wasn't my fault! Please Lord Crayak! Please don't-" the Drode pleaded hysterically. He didn't want to die. _He didn't want to die._   
  
_SILENCE. YOU HAVE BEEN GIVEN ONE CHANCE TOO MANY DRODE AND I AM TIRED OF YOUR FAILURES. YOU ARE OF NO USE TO ME._   
  
"NO! NO THAT'S NOT TRUE! PLEASE! ONE MORE CHANCE MASTER! ONE MORE CHANCE!" the Drode screeched, he lifted his hands graspingly towards Crayak but Crayak looked unblinkingly down at him with the menacing red eye, the harsh glow unwavering.   
  
NO. Crayak said, a single word but one that sealed the fate of the Drode. The light of Crayak's eye suddenly became searingly bright and the Drode closed his eyes in pain.   
  
"No..." the Drode whimpered as the light suddenly blasted forth to envelope his body.   
  
Silence.   
  
And then...   
  
The Drode wondered if this was what death felt like, a sudden searing white light and then nothing. It was only then he felt the rough gravel beneath his knees and realized he was still alive. But why? The Drode knew that Crayak was about to kill him, that blast would have incinerated him... Could he be showing mercy upon the Drode? No, the Drode knew Crayak too well for that. Crayak knew no mercy to anyone. It _had_ to have been something else, and so the Drode looked up, his slitted eyes widening at the realization of just _why_ he had failed to die. "The Ellimist...?" he whispered in surprised, unable to speak louder in light of his brush with death.   
  
The Ellimist was standing in front of him, close enough so that the Drode might have touched his fabricated clothing, though he had no want to, he hated the Ellimist almost as much as his lord Crayak did. The Ellimist stood in the form of an old human-like man, with only an almost elf-like quality to him with slightly pointed ears and an unearthly beard to separate him from the human race. The Ellimist wore long robes, unsure of color as he was already covered by an angelic blue glow. The Drode squinted at the glow, his eyes more used to the murk of Crayak's realm. The Ellimist held his back towards the Drode, and rather faced Crayak's enraged red eye. "Crayak," the Ellimist acknowledged.   
  
_ELLIMIST! WHY DO YOU INTERFERE WITH MY BUSINESS?_ Crayak roared angrily, the crimson red of his eye flaring like fire.   
  
"I have need of this one, though foul he is. I can not use him if he is dead," the Ellimist spoke quietly, a calm contrast compared to Crayak's rage. Immediately the Drode felt a flare of anger at the Ellimist though he chose not to betray himself with it, better to keep quiet and perhaps he might live a little longer.   
  
Crayak laughed ominously, a fearful tone that made the Drode's black heart skip a beat-though at any other time he might have added his own high-pitched cackle. _YOUR WANT OF IT ONLY FUELS MY PURPOSE MORE. I WILL KILL IT NOW RATHER THAN LET YOU HAVE USE OF IT. AS YOU SAY, YOU CAN NOT USE IT IF IT'S DEAD,_ Crayak mocked the Ellimist, his eye glowing slightly brighter in the meanwhile. The Drode's fear began to return...   
  
"You might still have use for him as well, Crayak," the Ellimist spoke calmly, the blue glow around him intensifying for a moment. The glow of Crayak's eye dulled for a moment at this suggestion, though not enough to quell the Drode's fears. "You might still have a chance at Earth if you listen to me."   
  
_YOU WOULD NOT PUT THE EARTH INTO MY HANDS WILLINGLY ELLIMIST... WHAT IS YOUR AGENDA...?_ Crayak asked suspiciously. Crayak was a monster, but he was no fool. The Ellimist wanted something, something big enough that he would risk putting the Earth into Crayak's hands again, something important enough to risk this galaxy's safety... The Drode also knew this as he listened, and felt his own calculative suspicions drive upwards-though he bit back his own drilling comments.   
  
"My agenda is not important. This is not a bargain, it is a bet. Will you hear it?" the Ellimist asked in a voice that was almost a whisper, but was also a roar of thunder. The glow around the Ellimist seemed to intensify in strength, though did not seem to grow in brightness. It made the Drode squint, a practice which annoyed him.   
  
Crayak was silent for a moment as he mulled over the proposal, before the harsh red light of his eye diminished-though only a mere fraction. _I WILL HEAR THIS BET,_ He roared silently.   
  
"We will take this one, and put him on Earth. There he will be able to do as he chooses freely-within the rules of course," the Ellimist proposed. Behind him the Drode snorted at the Ellimist's plan, if the Drode would truly be free, then it would be obvious about what he would do. He would turn the Animorphs in to the Yeerks, he would uncover the free Hork-Bajir colony, and he would be able to expose the rebel Yeerks. Easy. And it would put him back in favor with Crayak as well...   
  
_THERE ARE ALWAYS RULES. BUT NO RULE CAN PREVENT ME FROM CALLING YOU A FOOL ELLIMIST. IT IS MINE, IT WILL DO MY BIDDING. AND BECAUSE OF THIS YOU ARE A FOOL._ Crayak laughed and the Drode growled inside his throat-though not out loud. He was to be a pawn of the Ellimist-a despairing thought in the least. But he would not obey the Ellimist's commands! Oh no, if he was to roam freely on the Earth, he was going to do it _his_ way.   
  
Or was it Crayak's way?   
  
The Drode blinked in surprise at himself. Where had that thought come from? He shook his head lightly to forget it, on Earth he knew that it would be up to him to turn the tide of the battle. At the moment it seemed perhaps that the Yeerks were winning, but when Crayak had lost it would only have been a matter of timing before the battle was won by the Animorphs. However, if the Ellimist changed the rules to allow himself into the game...   
  
"I will take the Drode then. We will discuss the rules, and then the game will begin, yes Crayak?" the Ellimist said calmly, a slight smile formed upon his thin lips. The eye of Crayak narrowed, red light pulsing between the massive blackness of what might in someway have been his eyelid. It was blinding, evil light that bathed his kingdom in blood, covering the Drode as well, though nothing-not even Crayak's light-could touch the blue glow of the Ellimist.   
  
_SO BE IT,_ Crayak acknowledged as he closed the red eye in decision, at least for now. With that note of authority, the Ellimist turned to face the Drode who was still down on his knees. He gave a warm smile, though the Drode only scowled in response.   
  
"I don't expect gratitude," the Ellimist shrugged as he studied the quietly seething Drode.   
  
"Good, because you're not getting any from me. Try those slobbering dogs of yours, oh wait, they're dead aren't they? I wonder why," the Drode sneered angrily, though it came out as only a half-hearted response. The Drode had come very near to a sudden and excruciatingly painful death... only to be saved by his absolute worst enemy. The strain of the recent events was pulling hard on the Drode's sense of sarcasm.   
  
Still, the remark left a smarting mark on the Ellimist, who looked off slightly to the right and into the distance, a longing look upon his face. The Drode took some satisfaction in that longing look, he wasn't going to go willingly, though he would go despite. His power came directly from Crayak's, and was only a tiny, miniscule fraction of that power. The Ellimist was much stronger, though the Drode did not like to admit this.   
  
"Let us go," the Ellimist said solemnly as the dreary background of Crayak's planet began to faze, replaced by light and dark specks of all colors. The Drode gritted his teeth and growled savagely at his helplessness. He looked up at the glowing Ellimist, his eyes at their narrowest point in anger.   
  
"You will never _use_ me Ellimist! I won't let you! I'LL NEVER LET YOU!" He howled as his body disappeared from Crayak's realm. The eye of Crayak was already gone, returned to his dark temple where he would watch all.   
  
Soon the game would begin.   
  
  
Light.   
  
Light all around and nothing but. The Drode hated the light, it was always painful for him at first until his eyes adjusted from the eternal twilight of Crayak's dwellings. That was the lesser excuse for the hatred. The more powerful was what light _represented._ Light was the symbol of hope, the symbol of happiness, and the symbol of life. The symbol of _Good._   
  
In short, light symbolized everything the Drode wasn't and despised. And now it was all around him. The utter terror of Crayak and intense hatred of the Ellimist slowly began to quell as the Drode began to contemplate the recent events. He still could not understand _why_ the Ellimist had.   
  
The Drode sneered in disgust. "I'm afraid I could care less for the decore. _Much_ less," he said sarcastically, feeling a presence from behind his own energy. At the moment he had no real body, this was a realm beyond the normal dimensions. This was Z-space as the Andalites called it, or at least something much like it. But it was not the type of realm the Drode was used to. This was the Ellimist's dwelling place, a place of bright sheering light that cut into everything, and brought things best left unseen to light.   
  
And then suddenly-   
  
"It is quite beautiful to the Ellimist and I... but then I suppose different people have different tastes in beauty..." the Pemalite said softly, as suddenly the bright light contorted and shifted into a field of green with soft violet skies. Pale pink and sea green trees with slender pleasing forms dotted the landscape, while in the violet sky, pastel birds and lizards floated among the wispy butter-yellow clouds.   
  
"Don't speak to me like that _Pemalite,_ I am no friend of yours. And as for beauty, I'm afraid I've never been able to stand anything as shallow. I'm afraid I much prefer what is ugly, and there is a lot more of _that_ in the universe," the Drode sneered as he crossed his now physical arms.   
  
"Then perhaps you find what is ugly... beautiful?" the Pemalite teased good-naturedly as it smiled widely with its canine mouth. It then gracefully bent down to pick a delicate pale orange flower off its stem. It stepped back up and held the flower to its nose, sniffing deeply before giving a peaceful sigh. The Drode heaved a heavy sigh of disgust, if his body were weaker he might have felt nauseous.   
  
"No, no I don't. But maybe I'm simply despicable. Many would agree," the Drode shrugged, suddenly he noticed that his normally green-black skin had taken on a rosy-pink color. He held up a hand to the happy Pemalite, flexing it once to emphasize it. "Cute," the Drode said before willing his body back to its normal coloring. The Pemalite frowned unhappily, but quickly excepted it, annoying the Drode further.   
  
"I hate Pemalites," the Drode said firmly, recrossing his hands. The Pemalite simply smiled condescendingly upon him before replanting the flower, which quickly took root and flourished. The Drode watched the flower in disdain for a moment, before deliberately seeking the nearest flower to him, a pale orchid of some type, and smashing it was a bird-like foot. He kept an eye on the Pemalite as he grinded the flower into the rich dirt. "I hate flowers too."   
  
The Pemalite watched the Drode as he killed the flower, his pearl-colored eyes sparkling in the bright sun above. Afterwards he let his eyes settled unto the Drode's yellow, slitted ones. They both stood for a moment, simply contemplating each other, the pure good and the pure evil, a staring contest that was slightly more than a game. And though the Pemalite was the first to look away, it was not because he was backing down.   
  
"The flower may die, but in its death we must rejoice for other flowers will grow from its soil, and it too will be rebirthed through them," the Pemalite said softly as it looked at the broken flower. The Drode scowled and rolled his eyes in annoyance.   
  
"Well _that_ takes some of the joy out of murder," the Drode commented sarcastically. The Pemalite smiled, but did not respond to the comment. The Drode looked thoughtful for a moment, before smiling maliciously. "Of course, it does not take all the fun away. No... the mass murder of your race was especially fun. At least I suppose for myself... and the Howlers... and the mighty Crayak. Of course, it might not have been for your species. Now tell me... how were _you_ killed? You don't fool me, I know that _all_ the Pemalites were wiped out from the youngest child to the oldest elderly. I _know._ You're dead. Just a spirit the Ellimist dragged from who knows where. Lord Crayak does that from time to time when he's _really_ annoyed with a victim. So how was it? Was it from a gun perhaps? The death would have been quick... only a searing, thought-blotting pain for an instant before nothiness..." the Drode said as he began to circle the Pemalite slowly.   
  
The Pemalite turned with him as the Drode circled. Despite the Drode's attempts to anger the Pemalite, the canine-like alien's gentle nature forgave him even as he said those hateful words. The Pemalites had been a peaceful race to the point of where they could not even contemplate hate, and even less, deliberant attempts to hurt another being. Even in their deaths they could not understand _why_ they were being killed. It was simply a thought they could not process, a thought they could not adapt to. And so they could not hate those who had murdered them. They could not even fear them. But they could forgive. And so the Pemalite before the Drode did not react to the mention of the extinction of its race.   
  
"Or perhaps it was with the Howler's blades... deadly razors, a slow and masterfully painful death. Torture really, I rather like the idea..." the Drode suggested silkily as he continued to circle. The Pemalite still did not respond, pain was a fleeting thing, all one had to do was remember that it would be gone one day.   
  
"Or perhaps... just perhaps, it was by, well by _me_... Tell me _Pemalite,_ did you know I was promoted for the murder of the Pemalites? That's what we call it by the way, none of this 'destruction', or 'extinction', or even 'killing' business, but _murder._ The mass murder of the Pemalites... anything else sounds too _weak._ That occasion _was_ so much fun, a good memory... You realize of course that I was the one who constructed the quantum virus that killed the last of your disgusting race off, yes?" the Drode asked in a nonchalant tone of voice. He ended his circling in front of the Pemalite, crouching slightly to look up at the chin of the taller Pemalite. With that remark the Pemalite froze. The Drode simply grinned. "I see..."   
  
Then the Drode dropped the subject, he would have liked to pursue in any other case, emotionally hunting down the prey and making the kill-as painfully and bloodily as possible-However, if he pursued he doubted anymore damage could really be done. The Pemalite had frozen, whether in fear, or pain, or anger-the Drode really had no idea, but it was a negative reaction, and this was good. He simply gave one last malicious grin that said 'I know your little secret' and stepped back to his original position, crossing his arms again and balancing comfortably with his tail.   
  
The Pemalite stood, looking blankly into the distance for a moment, before looked gently back at the Drode. The peacefulness that had been gone from the Pemalite for only moments came back with a force, though a new wariness-hardly there in terms of most races, but inconceivable for the Pemalite species-surrounded it. "You know the Ellimist is to send you to Earth, yes?" the Pemalite asked softly as he looked upwards at the sky and studied a light green bird, not looking directly at the Drode.   
  
"I believe that point was made," the Drode shrugged, he waited then for the Pemalite to go on. He didn't believe he had been brought to this sickly-sweet place for nothing.   
  
"But there will be rules of course," the Pemalite said as it refused to look directly at the Drode. The Drode simply grinned in response to the Pemalite's discomfort.   
  
"There are _always_ rules," the Drode sneered in annoyance, he really hadn't been expecting not to be binded...   
  
"In order to blend in, your form must be changed to one of the inhabitants of Earth," the Pemalite told him as it began the recitation of the rules from which the Drode would have to play from. To that the Drode simply snorted, as a species, the human race was pathetically weak, and too confident in themselves to realize the Drode could crush them with one finger if he were allowed. However, they did have certain qualities that he did have to admire, such a violent race! One by one they were nothing, but when they came by swarm they drove themselves into frenzy, rivaling the Yeerks in their own way. Their wars were spectacularly vicious, and the reasons for them were so petty it was pure pleasure for the Drode to witness them. Yes, they were so violent it was hard to believe they had come thus far without wiping themselves into extinction, but they had. In a way, the Yeerks sort of ruined the fun, once they enslaved the humans, they would no longer be able to fight each other...   
  
"You won't be able to use any of Crayak's power as well. I'm afraid we can't give you that advantage," the Pemalite went on to say. The Drode gritted his teeth, none of his power? He tried to think back to _any_ time when he had been without, and couldn't think of any such period. That would leave him defenseless, a weak human only. But surely he could get along, couldn't he? Many of the humans on that pitiful planet managed to survive _somehow,_ of course he didn't admire their violent tendencies for absolutely no reason. But surely _he_ could survive, he had the knowledge of the Cosmos to put basically, they were all _idiots._   
  
"The Ellimist and your master Crayak have also agreed to erase certain memories from your being, to make the game fair," the Pemalite said, finally recovering enough to look the Drode in the eye, though at the moment the Drode was too deep in thought to look back. He balled in fists and looked upwards at the Pemalite, a dangerous glint in his eyes though the Pemalite took no heed.   
  
"_What_ memories?" the Drode asked quietly.   
  
"Memories of who the Animorphs are, of who certain hosts are, where Yeerk hideouts and entrances are. Things such as those," the Pemalite told him. Suddenly the Pemalite stretched his elegant neck upwards to look at the violet sky, ears stretching in response to some unknown command. He then looked back down at the Drode and spoke again before the Drode could become angry. "And now we must part ways minion of Crayak, perhaps we will meet again, but for now I will say good luck. I hope we can meet again under better circumstances."   
  
The Drode would have snapped at this point if the dimension around him hadn't fazed outwards. Soon he was energy again, a being without a body. At this point it didn't matter if he exploded or not, he couldn't do anything about it.   
  
Again, the Drode sensed an essence from behind. More powerful, much more powerful. The Ellimist.   
  
It is time to go, the Ellimist said, the soft warmth and light emanating from his being failing to reassure the Drode. The Drode tried to sneer but found that without the capacity of a body, it accomplished to nothing. Instead he resided to giving off an abundance of black and hateful energy, a dark aura to repel the good of the Ellimist.   
  
You have no right to my memories _Ellimist!_ the Drode yelled angrily, sending a spark of cold power towards the Ellimist, which dissipated in the light which surrounded him.   
  
Crayak has agreed with me, your master, and therefore I have all the right I need. Tell me Drode, what rights does a being such as yourself have anyway? the Ellimist asked sweetly, a tone of humor evident. The Drode growled mentally, the Ellimist may have had no right invading his mind, but his master, _Crayak, owned_ him. There was nothing he could do about it.   
  
You, _Ellimist,_ are more devious than you might think despite everything you stand for, the Drode growled, trying in vain to keep his breaking composure. I have no idea what you are doing this for. And frankly, I don't care all that much. But I'm going to take advantage of this little game of yours to regain Lord Crayak's favor... even _with_ this sick handicap, the Drode said in a quiet and very dangerous voice. The dark power emanating from his spirit pulsing with cold hate.   
  
I wouldn't have it any other way Drode, the Ellimist laughed as the Drode was on the verge of pure unadulterated rage. Suddenly he sensed a gesture of power as the Ellimist's energy suddenly expanded over the Drode's blackness, completely enveloping his essence. The Drode instinctively tried to expand his own power, but was overpowered almost instantly. The Drode panicked.   
  
  
Darkness.   
  
And then...   
  
Murky thoughts stirred inside the Drode's mind, though nothing so strong as words. It was a lack of alertness the Drode had never experienced in millennia. Even in his sleep he never truly shut down his mind, going through whatever algorithms, plans of destruction, or suspicions he had no time to deal with during the day. He was constantly alert, keeping one eye and an ear open for whoever might dare to disturb him during his brief resting periods, ready to spring to action if need be. Even his high ranking with Crayak did not protect him from the jealousies of Crayak's other minions.   
  
The type of unconsciousness he was now experiencing left no room for thoughts, no room for emotions, no room for the world. His body was paralyzed below the neck, immovable, relaxed, and vulnerable to whatever attack might come. It was peace to some, suicide to others.   
  
Air. Warmth. Breeze. The Drode felt warm, a light breeze swept across his face. It felt good, being warm. There was nothing but warmth all around. He wanted nothing more to stay like that forever. Warm everywhere, except across his face where a soft and cool wind played... A breeze...   
  
A breeze?   
  
Slowly, the Drode's thoughts began to clear at the thought and feel of the breeze, and as he woke up he became more and more alarmed. A breeze? The Drode's skin was thin but with his power he kept himself safe from weather conditions at all time. He could not feel cold, he could not feel warm, and he could not feel wind.   
  
The Drode became more and more aware, little by little, about how weak he felt, how _weak!_ He couldn't move! He couldn't hear, he couldn't see! And he felt so damn _weak!_ Someone could attack him, he was helpless. Even with all his power and Crayak's trust he couldn't avoid enemies among Crayak's non-Howler underlings. When he was fully awake he was much too strong to contend with but when he was asleep- _What was wrong with him?! Where was his power?! Had he been attacked?! Where was HE?!_   
  
He was... on Earth.   
  
He remembered what had happened. His imminent death, the rescue by that despised Ellimist, and the game...   
  
The Drode opened his eyes, it was dark, pitch black. That was wrong, his eyes were usually nocturnally adjusted, the dark was as bright as day to him. He was human. A weak human who couldn't see a damn thing.   
  
The Drode involuntarily groaned as he forced himself to move, it was hard, he felt like he had absolutely no energy at all. The Drode noticed and forced himself not to panic when he realized he was wrapped tightly in some bulk of cloth. He wriggled and flipped himself onto his belly, noticing as he did so that his legs and body were positioned differently and not very reassuringly. Suddenly, he fell, a short distance only, but enough to cause some surprise on impact. The bondage came loose and he quickly pulled it off.   
  
The Drode panted, feeling some strength slowly starting to flow into his muscles as he worked them. He was more alert now as he slowly rolled up into a sitting position and rested. The world was still dark, his human eyes only able to adjust enough to read vague outlines between various objects and where a possible window might be. He shivered in the darkness, it was nerve-wracking for him though he managed to keep himself under control. An enemy could be right next to him and he wouldn't know it until it was too late... and then he would be unable to defend himself in this weak human body the Ellimist had forced him into. He would die...   
  
The Drode shook his head, trying to clear those nasty thoughts from his head. He would not die. He would not allow it, even in this weak human body. The Drode blinked and looked around the room. A _human_ room. Since this was a human room, and humans' needed light to see... uh, they had switches for these sort of things. _I'm not going to let that know-it-all the Ellimist beat me... they need lights... light switches! And they're usually near the doorway I believe,_ the Drode thought as he looked around himself into the shadows-looking for the door he knew humans desperately needed to have. He spotted an out-lined area on what he believed was a wall and tried to stand up, but thought better of it as his legs began to wobble. _Idiotic humans, it's a wonder they got anywhere in these legs of theirs'..._ He crawled tentatively towards the door, trying to ignore how embarrassing crawling really was for him, he had done enough groveling in front of Crayak already.   
  
Once the Drode reached the wall, he slowly crawled a hand up over it, feeling the door's edges and the knob, he felt the sides and quickly came upon the wall. Tentatively he felt the wall until he came to what he was sure was the light switch. He flicked the tiny knob upwards and cried out in surprise as the bright lights on the ceiling came on with a sudden flicker. He growled as he pressed his eyes together tightly, daring to blink in order to become used to the light. "Damn all humans," he muttered angrily as he finally became used to the light.   
  
The Drode scanned the room suspiciously. Human eyesight differed slightly from his usual vision, in trade for his better eyesight, humans saw in brighter and more vivid colors. Not that the Drode saw that as a fair trade off. _More of a distraction than anything,_ the Drode thought bitterly.   
  
The room was large with white-painted walls and a large window in the wall opposite of himself and the door. The Drode recognized the platform he had awoken on, it was a bed. What humans laid themselves down on to rest. It was a totally defenseless platform and the Drode again wondered how humans had managed to survive this long. He looked and picked out several other objects in the room. A soft, fabric-covered chair, a wooden desk, a dresser, an awful painting of a gaudy seascape on the wall. The room was devoid of personality, worse, it was arranged to be welcoming and devoid of personality.   
  
"Cute," the Drode sneered, the remark meant for the Ellimist though he was nowhere in sight. The Drode blinked as he heard his own voice. It was not his. Specifically, it was not his _normal_ voice. The harsh, sarcastic voice he usually commanded had softened, and grown deeper. Normally the Drode could drip sarcasm from every single word he said with hardly a thought, but he found that in that one spoken word, there had been hardly a trace. The Drode felt cold as he looked down at his hands. Five-digits. Claws of weak, easily-torn cuticle, skin totall smooth and an unbearably pale-tan color. The Drode opened his mouth to say something terribly obscene, but nothing came out. The Drode could only look quickly for a mirror, locating one above the dresser. The Drode pressed his unfamiliar lips together and struggled to stand up on the oddly-placed legs. There would be no more crawling, the Drode told himself. No matter how wobbly his, no this body's, ridiculous legs might be.   
  
The Drode reached up and grabbed the handle of the white door and struggled to pull himself up. One plus of this body was that the arms were very strong, able to lift the human body's weight. _Hardly needed with the power of Crayak,_ the Drode reminded himself. With near-omnipotency it mattered not what the Drode lifted with his normal skinny, multi-jointed arms, anything felt as light as a feather. _One of the many powers I no longer possess,_ the Drode thought angrily. The Drode lifted himself up onto his two strong, straight, and _human_ legs, wobbling, but standing. He looked at the mirror at the other side of the room, and carefully stepped forward with his right foot, keeping a tight hold on the doorknob. When that held no ill consequence, he took another step and let go of the doorknob.   
  
"Not so hard," the Drode muttered in that strange voice. He took a larger step, but while his foot was in the air, his other leg started to wobble uncontrollably. He quickly brought the other foot down and balanced himself. He tried again, taking a smaller and quicker step, lifting his foot up in the air and quickly bringing it back down again. His other leg began to wobble, but his other foot was down to balance himself before he collapsed. He growled, recalling vaguely that the Animorphs-_whoever they were_-had at least one andalite with them. He knew logically, to blend in the andalite probably took on the human-form once in awhile, he wondered if it, or they, or whatever, had this problem. _Of course,_ the Drode thought to himself. _And what one primitive andalite can do, I can do as well._ The Drode made his way, with starts and stops, to the dresser with the mirror, feeling some satisfaction in that accomplishment.   
  
Whatever satisfaction he had was wiped instantly the moment he looked into the mirror.   
  
He was human.   
  
He had already _known_ he was human, but it was an entirely different thing to look in a mirror and actually _see_ it. He stared with his mouth wide-open, his eyes wide with surprise. "By the suns above," he swore. So utterly shocked he was reduced to using an ancient phrase he had not uttered since before he could remember.   
  
His face was the same color as his hands, covered with the same conventional human features. Two large deep-blue eyes, a large nose, and a horizontal mouth below. The Drode lifted up a lip with a single finger and studied with disgust at the white, blunted teeth of a human. They would be of no use if the Drode was in a fight, in the Drode's normal body, if he had no other defenses, not even Crayak's mighty power behind him, the least he could do was bite out his enemy's throat with his long, sharp, silver-colored teeth. The only thing better about the human's mouth was the jaw, which was much wider and stronger, capable of more powerful bites.   
  
He was horrified to find that his ears had become the stunted, blunt and _round_ things of a human. Not only was he not capable of hearing as much as he could in his usual body, but he had always taken a certain pride in the long, straight standing ears-though he would admit that pride to nobody but himself. His beautiful ears... reduced to _these_ things.   
  
And finally, as if to crest the humiliation, the Drode ran a trembling hand through the thick, chestnut-colored hair topping his head. Bangs fell across his eyes and he brushed them away in horror. He realized for a human, having hair was only natural, being bald was actually _un_natural, but for him...   
  
He was a monstrosity.   
  
A _tall_ monstrosity, he reminded himself. Something inside himself took pleasure in the fact that he was now, compared to his normal height, a _giant._ Most of his conscious mind however, was still horrified at what the Ellimist had forced upon him. He looked down, noticing he was fully dressed, despite being in the bed only a moment before. _Yes, let's praise and thank the Ellimist for lending me a set of clothes. Hardly,_ the Drode snorted. Simple dress, a pair of blue jeans, a black T-shirt saying something the Drode didn't bother to translate, black sneakers... _at least he picked my favorite color,_ the Drode thought sarcastically.   
  
And as if being human wasn't enough... _he made me an adolescent, 17 I believe. Wonderful. I'm a teenager._ The Drode groaned audibly. And then growled. "Ellimist! You might find this_ funny_ now, but when the Animorphs are captured by the yeerks thanks to _me,_ and Crayak has claimed the Earth as his own, I will be the one laughing at _you!_ Do you here me Ellimist??" the Drode yelled angrily. He paused, but received no reply of any kind. "Damn you Ellimist," the Drode muttered. He folded his hands across the desk and slumped down, his head fitting perfectly in the space created by his elbows.   
  


_To Be Continued.._.   
  
And so ends the first chapter. The Drode is human. A _teenage_ human at that. He doesn't know who the Animorph are. Or even who any of the hosts are. He's a pawn in the worst sense, only he can decide where to move. You have read, and now you may review.   
  
  
_Thank you, thank you and goodnight._


	2. Damien Crayos, c'mon, you've all seen Om...

**A LIFE WORTH LIVING**

By T.B. Stormshot 

_Disclaimer: Hey, I never CLAIMED to own the Animorphs, and I probably never will, but that's okay... BECAUSE ONE DAY I'M GOING TO CREATE MY OWN SERIES THAT'LL BE EVEN BETTER! BWAHAHAHAHAHAA!_

Okay, new chap. I little short in my taste, I'm ALWAYS trying to get my chaps to a respectable length but I can never quite do it! *sobs and sighs* Oh well... better updated quicker than NEVER. 

Hm, what to talk about? Halloween's tomorrow. Who's going trick-or-treating? I'll tell ya who, _I'm_ going trick-or-treating. Even though I'm a senior. I have to take my little brother around, and as long as I'm doing it, I'm going to get ME some candy too. I'm short enough, people think I'm younger than I really am, so I'm going to drape a sheet over my head and get some damned candy, because unlike YOU people, I always get enough candy to drive me for MONTHS!!! 

So uh, just read the story. Read and review. Appreciate it. Besides that, reviews are the second best way of getting reviews for your own stories. You know, besides just updating at the right time. 

* * *

The Drode sighed heavily as he opened the door of the blank room. At the moment he was feeling a mixture of depression, anger, and a very, very small amount of hope. 

This was his chance. His chance to redeem himself in the eye of Crayak. _He_ could retake Earth. _He_ could bring down the Animorphs. He could rub the Ellimist's disgusting blue face in his own idiocy. The Ellimist had _saved_ the Drode, and now he was going to regret it, the Drode would make sure of it. 

The Drode looked out at the hallway before him. It was wallpapered with small blue and pink flowers on a cream colored background. The Drode narrowed his eyes and frowned. He was in a human house alright, but _why,_ was another question. If it had been his choice, the Drode would have been rather left on a street than in such a ..._ pleasant_ place. But then again, if it had been his choice he would never be _human_ in the first place. 

He heard a noise from his right and carefully turned. A tall male came from out of another room near the Drode's own. Surprised, the Drode sucked in a breath of air and took a small step back. Normally he would have heard the human ages before he came out, but without the more intricate senses of his normal body, the Drode found himself surprised, and utterly helpless. 

The male looked up and smiled at the Drode. The Drode narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He was quite ready to turn tail and run if need be, he didn't trust the human body he now possessed to be able to stand up to any sort of attack. _But then again, I probably wouldn't be able to run anyway, these humans don't even have a tail to balance on, and their feet are hardly large enough to support their bodies for long. I would fall, and then I would die,_ the Drode thought, frowning slightly. 

"You're up early," the human said, grinning. The Drode studied him carefully before he replied. He was older than the Drode, at least physically, chronologically the Drode was centuries old. The Drode guessed early forties, gray hair was beginning to take over around the sides. The Drode noticed in distaste that this particular human had allowed dark brown hair to grow over his face, from the cheeks down. Behind it, the human's skin was a cream color. The usual human features were placed on the face, though the large mouth was difficult to locate under the black hair. Small, light brown eyes were right above the nose, crow's feet also occupied the area around the eyes. He was dressed in dress pants and a nice casual cream-colored shirt. He was just putting on a jacket. 

"Yes," the Drode responded shortly. "Why are you up?" 

"Just getting ready for work. I hate these Monday mornings. Mauricia might be an early bird, but not me. Problem is, if I sleep for that extra hour, traffic is going to be bad and if there is one thing I hate more than getting up early, it's _traffic._ But I guess you know what I mean Damien, you teenagers have it almost as bad as I do. At least I get paid!" With that, the man laughed heartily before walking down the hallway, past the Drode. "You can come down when you're ready, Mauricia will probably love making you breakfast, she never had enough time to cook for me." He disappeared down a staircase on the Drode's right. 

The Drode pressed his lips together as he watched the man go. _A human.... the owner of this house probably. What sort of game are you playing Ellimist and what makes you so sure I'm going to do what you want? And who is this Damien, Ellimist? Did you decide to steal my name too while you were stealing my body, my power, and my memories as well? I suppose so. Damn you._ The Drode growled lowly as he put his arm to his him. He felt a shift of paper and looked down at the jeans the Ellimist had fitted him with. He pulled out the letter which had been stuck in his pocket. _A letter Ellimist? How droll. No god-playing appearances or burning bushes? That's not fair._ The Drode snorted and grinned dryly as he opened the letter and began to read. And if he had been in a bad mood before, he was in an even worse mood after. 

_Dear Drode, _

Or should I say Damien Crayos? I took the liberty of providing you with an appropriate history, including a name. All with the permission of Mr. Crayos of course. I realize this is perhaps not what you desired, but you are just a teenager now. Not an adult, though you might think you are. You can't make decisions for yourself quite yet, though you might like to.

You have been under bad influence for a long time Damien, and only recently have you been rescued. Probably just in the nick of time too. You have been placed with a foster family for the time being, until you can make decisions for yourself Damien, they are Bob and Mauricia Winterrs. Try and be nice to them, they are good people and only want to help you Damien. They don't know too much about your past, but they know that you've had it hard.

Things you should probably know are that you will be attending school. Now I know that you haven't had any schooling for a very long time, but you are a remarkably intelligent person and I'm sure you will do fine. And you will go to school. It will do you some good to go out and meet people your own age for once, you are always thinking you're too mature for other people, but once you allow other people into your life you can see that they can bring out the best in you.

Another idea would be to keep certain thoughts you might have to yourself. You never know who might be listening and I'm sure you wouldn't want your privacy breached, Damien. There are people in this world that will use whatever information they can get to get at you, control you, and eat you up from the inside out. Be careful. Certain actions in your past might alienate, or anger, certain people. In fact, probably most of your past would alienate other people. So just try not to say too much about what you did before the Winterrs. I believe that would work in your best interest.

The best advice I could give you though Damien, is to try and keep you temper. Try not to kill anybody. I'm sure you wouldn't, but I also know how angry you can get. And though we've taken away your firepower, I still would like to warn you against hurting others in any way. You can't do much if you are taken into custody, and that would hurt both you and I.

Good luck Damien, you might not understand what this is all about now, but relax. Don't worry about it, just live your life. Get a hobby, join a club. Forget about your past for now. Really, this does work in your advantage. 

Your Counselor, 

L.E. Myst 

The Drode crumpled the paper into a ball, his hands shaking. He would have torn the paper up if he hadn't thought better of it. Damien Crayos. Damien Crayak. He was so incredibly angry, his hate more intense than usual for the Ellimist. 

What was this, a joke? Was it a joke that the Ellimist had thrown him into a situation where he was a human teenager, to be put into a family? Was it a joke to change his name? Was it a joke to place him in _school?_ Because if it was, is was a terrible and sick one. The Ellimist was sick, taking twisted elation from the Drode's predicament. 

"_Just live your life,_" the Drode repeated sarcastically, almost getting it right this time. "Just live your life. Well this isn't _my_ life Ellimist, L.E. Myst. But I'm going to use whatever I have to beat you. You're going to lose _Ellimist,_" the Drode growled out loud. He stood there, unable to move, or think of anything but his hate for the Ellimist. For that obnoxious, self-appointed _Ellimist._

After a few minutes the Drode finally looked up and sighed. Standing there, hating the Ellimist would get him nowhere. But what _should_ he do? Follow the human male downstairs he supposed. He saw absolutely no reason to stay up in the hallway for the moment. He turned his head towards the steps the man, David Winterrs, had gone down, and made his way carefully there. And there he simply stopped, and stared. 

How the hell was he supposed to make it down _that?_

That staircase was about a mile long. Well, maybe not a _mile_ long, but long enough so that if he should fall, he would most likely break his scrawny human neck. The Drode took a deep intake of air as he thought this. He had not come to Earth just to die falling down a plot of stairs. The Drode glanced right and left, and noticed the open hand railing towards the right of the stairs, glancing over the handrail, he had a good view of the first floor, as well as the front door besides it. It was a long way down too, which was probably why the handrail was there in the first place. Humans couldn't possibly have the balance to avoid falling. 

The Drode pierced his lips and slowly grasped the handrail, at least he knew he could count on these human hands to do their job. That was _something._ He tightly held on as he took one tentative step down the stairs, he stopped for a moment, assessing the situation, and then took another slow step down onto the same stair. As he took it, his other leg suddenly wobbled, unused to so much weight being put on it, the Drode realized this and tried to pull it back, but before he could the leg collapsed. The Drode grunted as fell, but luckily, his grip on the handrail kept him from going anywhere. The Drode growled as he pulled himself back up onto his feet, at least he was on the second step now. 

The Drode _re_-assessed the situation, and began to make his way down the stairs by quickly putting one foot down, and immediately raising the other and putting it down in order to keep his leg from collapsing under too much pressure. All while keeping both hands on the handrail at all time of course. 

Finally he was on the first floor. The Drode sighed in relief as he peeled his hands away from the railing, stretching them to return blood. He looked up the stairs and scowled, hoping that he wouldn't have to walk _up_ them until later, if at all. He turned and looked around, scanning the area. 

It was the front hall of the house. Decorated fashionably in human tastes. There were several open walkways into different rooms, of which the Drode took no pleasure in entering. The floor was made of hard, buff-colored wood, stained and glazed instead of painted. The walls were white, paint of course, with several paintings hung on them, much more tasteful than the one in the bedroom where the Drode had awoken. An un-obtrusive closet was in one corner, next to a dark-wooded table with some tasteful knickknacks. A set of hooks hung on the wall next to the door, ready to take any coats, and to be sure there were several. It was simple, but showed a very finely-tuned taste. A comfortably funded, middle-class family. The Drode noticed that the paintings on the walls were reprints. 

"Damien! Please, come into the kitchen!" a voice rang from one of the doorways. The Drode turned his head to the right, towards one of the partially-open walls in which the voice had come from. There he saw a female-human, later-thirties, beaming a bright smile at him, showing most of her white, blunt-edged, human teeth-not that that meant all that many. She was shorter than the other human, more hair of a long, blond color and slightly wavy. The Drode noticed that at least _this_ one kept her face clean of any hair. Her skin was the same color as the males, light-tan. Her eyes were blue though, and larger, much like the Drode's own though he put aside any thought of relation to _humans._ As the Drode made the mini-assessment, he began to unconsciously lean to one side, as was his habit. Unfortunately though, it was his habit to lean, putting all his weight onto one leg, in his _usual_ form. 

"Ack!" the Drode yelped unwilling as suddenly, and unsuspectingly, his leg suddenly collapsed underneath his weight, he toppled and fell, falling left onto his side. 

"Oh? Are you alright?" the woman asked in a worried tone of voice as she hurried over to the Drode's side. "Are you hurt?" she asked, as she tried to help him up. The Drode flinched as she touched as arm, instinctively pulling away. Many years as a consort to Crayak had taught him that touch was to be avoided at all times, considering it was usually a sign of aggression, which led to an attack. Not that the Drode could not handle himself. 

Under these circumstances however... 

The Drode managed to struggle to his feet on his own, wobbling slightly, but standing firmly. Looking at the woman, he saw that he was slightly taller by an inch. "I don't need any help," he said firmly, looking at her with as much dignity as he could muster, trying to cover up the fact that his cheeks were burning. The Drode knew that it was a human reaction to embarrassment. And the Drode was _very_ embarrassed. Embarrassed that he could show such an obvious sign of weakness, _especially_ in front of a human. The human body had a _lot_ of reactions. 

"Well, alright," the woman said uncertainly. She blinked, looking uncomfortable for a moment, but only for a moment. She gave an understanding smile that made the Drode want to gag, however, he decided it was probably best to control himself, or else this body might _actually_ gag. Humans couldn't control even the simplest of their actions. She gestured towards the kitchen. "Well, come on in, I can fix you something if you're hungry. I'm sure the plane trip left you a bit hungry, I know that you were awfully tired at least." 

The Drode looked at the woman suspiciously, but did not bother to say anything contradicting. Instead, he followed her into the kitchen, unwilling to go anywhere she wouldn't go herself, instincts bending towards the possibility of an ambush, though silly as it sounded. 

The kitchen was bright and sunny, the walls painted yellow which reflected the quickly rising sun well. The Drode stared out the large slide glass door which led to a porch, staring at the sunrise over the housetops and trees. His human eyes adjusted accordingly and he squinted unconsciously to keep his eyes from being harmed. He pierced his lips again and looked at the kitchen itself. A tiled floor accommodated a large counter top with a built in oven and cupboards of wood. Also built into it were a dishwasher and sink which had only a few white dishes in it, ready to be cleaned. A few cupboards hung from the ceiling, curling themselves up and over a white refrigerator. A large round table with four comfortable looking wooden chairs with cushioned seats stood out and alone near the sliding glass door. One of these chairs being used by the man the Drode had met upstairs. He was leaning over the table, eating a bowl of some food as quickly as he could while his brown eyes were staring and scanning quickly over a newspaper. He paused only momentarily to look up at the Drode and the female. 

"Hey, heard some noise out there? Everything okay?" he asked before returning to his cold cereal. 

The woman snorted, the Drode flinching slightly at the noise. "Yes, everything is alright Bob. Damien just had a little slip up, but he's fine." She then sighed unhappily. "I wish you'd let me fix you something hot to eat, that cereal can't be doing any good for you," she said pointedly. 

Bob answered without bothering to look up. "I would Mauricia, but I have no time in the mornings, you know that. You have a little relaxation time before you go to work. Me? I have to be on the dot, seven in the morning, _every_ morning, Monday through Fridays, Saturdays too if I have extra work," Bob said, turning a page of his large newspaper. 

"Well, if you really want to be on the dot, maybe you better leave now. It's 6:30," Mauricia said brightly, as she pointed to the clock in the oven. Bob glanced over and jumped to his feet. 

"Oh, no! I'm _late!"_ He shouted as he leaped over and around Mauricia and the Drode. The Drode tensed, but calmed down as the male, Bob, passed him. 

"Don't forget your briefcase!" Mauricia shouted out as she reached down next to the table and picked up the large leather object sitting next to it, Bob came back into view and took it from Mauricia, pecking her on the cheek as he did so. 

"Love ya," he said quickly as he turned around. He slowed and turned to the Drode, giving a quick and likable grin to any but the Drode. "Hey, we'll talk when I get back from work tonight. I'm sure we'll have a lot to chat about. Bye Damien. Bye Mauricia! See you tonight!" he said as he opened the front hall door, and ran out, closing it behind him. Mauricia walked up to the door and watched through the plate of glass set in it, as Bob started a small white car, and drove off. She grinned cheerfully. 

_A lot to talk about? I somehow doubt it._ the Drode thought in annoyance. 

_To be Continued... Some Other Time._

I think I've finally consolidated myself into thinking that not every chapter has to be extremely long. I mean, there are people out there, where their chapters are only about a thousand words long (pocket change) and they do fine. So alright, chapter only have to be 2000-3000 words long unless I really feel like I could write more. That way I can update quicker. Uh, check out my bio, I think I really need to get a rotation schedule thing going on, I'm going to have three stories rotating now... in case of what that third one is, NON-Interactive 6.0!!! is almost ready to make a comeback... 

Oh, wait. The Drode, yeah. So the Drode now has found to have been put into foster care by a caring couple. He probably doesn't like this, but unfortunately, the Ellimist doesn't give a damn what he thinks. 

*Blinks* You know, as I read through this story, the Winterrs seem like a very 50's family... you think that's bad?

  
  


_Thank you, thank you and goodnight._


	3. Eh uh it gets better later REALLY!

**A LIFE WORTH LIVING**

By T.B. Stormshot 

_Disclaimer: I don't own the Animorphs. I don't own the Omen. I don't need to. I have... BOB AND MAURICIA!!! HAHAHAAA!!! *blinks* ...yeah. Okay._

You know, thinking it over again, I think Bob and Mauricia are just right for their parts. The Drode needs some good old fashioned love. *blinks and thinks about what she just said. Then proceeds to leave the room, closing the door behind her. Loud laughter can be heard for several minutes. T.B. re-enters the room with a large grin on her face* Anyway, I believe the Ellimist would be reeeeaal picky about who he set the Drode, or should I say Damien, up with, so if the Winterrs are a little old-fashioned, that's a-okay. Oh, and nope, they aren't yeerked. They are simply creepily sweet people. 

Oh, I was going to say something else, um, oh yeah! The Omen! It's about the Antichrist being born to a family, only they don't get it and when they do... how are they supposed to kill their own kid??! Throughout the whole movie people die in mysterious accidents, which were predicted by photos of them with shadowy smudges in them. People that got in the Antichrist's way. What was this demon child's name? Well... Satan. But his human name was Damien. I felt that it fit the Drode quite well. Uh... his last name is Crayos because I thought if he gave the name "Crayak", he might give away his true nature to certain *ahem* _people_. Besides that, Crayos simply sounds more natural than Crayak, don't you think? 

* * *

"So, I guess you have a few questions to ask, Damien," Mauricia said as she turned to the Drode. The Drode blinked, but failed to say anything to Mauricia. As far as he was concerned, he was in a strange place, in a very strange situation and instinct told him to not let on about how little he really knew. He was _not_ in control of the situation, and he was _not_ going to let on that he wasn't. 

Mauricia stared at the Drode, while he simply glared back, waiting for her to come over to his side of the court, pick up the ball, go back over to her side, and try again. Finally, uncomfortably, she decided to do just that. "Well, my name is Mauricia Winterrs. And the man that just left is my husband, Bob Winterrs-" 

_Really?_ The Drode thought sarcastically. 

"And we're really glad to have you here Damien. We know that you only have one more year before you're 18 and out on your own, but we hope that you can learn to like it here. I've been told you've had a difficult past and-" 

"Really?" the Drode responded, rather curious on just what the foolish woman had been told. "What'd they tell you?" he asked bluntly. He wasn't in the mood for frills, he just wanted to be told what was up outstraight. 

"Well, that you've been through many foster homes, and that at one point you just decided to run away. For a while at least. I was also told the police found you and questioned you on a few charges. I'm glad though, that nothing was proven," Mauricia remarked in an easy-going tone. She was trying not to push the Drode. Of course, _being_ the Drode, he was remarkably sensitive to emotion and motivation. Expressions and tenseness in voice were like scrambled code to him, and he knew the code like a second language. The Drode struggled not to grin and laugh at Mauricia's attempts at nonchalance. After all, he was in a very strange situation. 

"So if I'm such a bad _person_. What am I doing here?" the Drode asked, raising an actual eyebrow. He unconsciously crossed his arms and began to lean on one leg again, but quickly caught himself before he had a chance to collapse. 

Mauricia smiled warmly. "Would you like to sit down?" she asked first, gesturing to the living room in the next room. The Drode cocked his head slightly and thought about it. While standing gave a sense of unease and discomfort, he really did not trust his now human legs to be able to stand up for all that long before growing tired. In any other case, were he in his true form, he would have declined, but this time, he accepted, grudgingly. 

Mauricia led him to the living room, which was fairly spacious and decorated to give a country-like feel. Homey and comfortable, meant to set guests at ease with one another. The entire room was centered around a fireplace made of brick, shielded by glass. A couch and two easy chairs, both an off-tone white, surrounded it, with a low wooden table in the middle of it all. Side tables were present by the chairs, modeled after the table in the middle, and holding identical lamps. The walls were wall-papered red with a rosy-white flower pattern, giving the room its warm tone. All in all, it achieved its purpose. Mauricia gestured towards a chair, which after a moment's reflection, the Drode sat in it. Mauricia sat at the edge of the couch in order to talk to him. 

Mauricia began to answer his question. "Bob and I, we have always wanted to help. Whether volunteering at a shelter or donating money to charity-this may sound corny, but that's just who we are-" 

_That does sound corny,_ the Drode agreed silently. _So corny in fact, I have absolutely no doubts about why that meddler the Ellimist chose you. He's trying to make me throw up._

"-For years though, we have tried for a child of our own. But we have never managed to, Bob and I had always been close, but it was a hard trial. Both of us thought that we were doing something wrong. We felt guilty, and at the same time we were trying to pin the blame on each other for our misfortune. It was hard..." 

_I bet it was. Humans,_ the Drode kept from snorting in disgust. He might have loved _watching_ the fight, but hearing about it like _this_ was a whole other matter. 

"But finally, Bob and I felt it in our hearts that we simply could no longer allow ourselves to be split apart over the matter. We had to move on, and do new things, and love each other again. So we decided, together, that if we could not have a child of our own, we would help other children instead," Mauricia smiled softly as she said those words, memories of reconnecting with her husband coming to mind. 

At that same time, the Drode had a breakthrough. _Religious! They're religious! No wonder this human's so sappy..._

"We became a foster home for anybody who needed it. And so here you are. It doesn't matter what kind of past a person has, they can always be a good person if they really want to be." 

The Drode blinked. "And what if they don't _want_ to be a good person? What if _they,_ are just happy as they are?" he asked snidely, trying to hide the smirk that came with the question. He had been controlling his witty comments up till now, but he just couldn't resist... 

It was Mauricia's turn to blink. "I don't think that anyone can be truly happy when they are bad. If you could be, maybe you would be born that way. But nobody is. Nobody is born bad, Damien," she tried to answer, thinking over the Drode's snide question. She looked thoughtful. 

"By bad, you mean evil," the Drode pushed. 

"Nobody is born evil," Mauricia said firmly, the Drode believed in the fact that she really did believe that. Even if he didn't believe it himself. 

"Well then, I suppose if no one could truly enjoy being bad, or evil for that matter, we must be living in a universe of peace and harmony. Right?" the Drode asked in conclusion, he believed the pleasure he was deriving from teasing Mauricia was real. _"Right?"_

Mauricia fell silent for a moment, leaving the Drode to think he had won, a half-grin of triumph began to form just as she slowly answered, "Some people just don't know enough kindness to understand the difference. I feel sorry for those people..." 

The Drode's grin faded as he wondered how he could battle this remark. However, before he could say something, his stomach answered for him with a low grumble. The Drode, his attention distracted from the immediate conversation, looked down at his belly in surprise. He wasn't used to the feeling of being hungry and had not recognized it immediately. He had always supplemented himself when necessary at established times, needing to be at his _best_ at all times. He hadn't realized that the human body's schedule might be any different. 

Mauricia grinned humorously at the Drode, putting the entire, rather morbid, conversation they had just had behind her. "Hungry?" she asked. 

  
  
The Drode tapped his fingers against the kitchen table, looking at his surroundings and outside the large slide glass door. The clock installed the electric oven said that it was 7:31 a.m.... 7:32 then. The Drode was beginning to realize that being hungry was a very uncomfortable feeling, not particularly terrible, but just annoying enough to distract him from his thoughts. Which of course was what he sought to avoid in Crayak's realm. This wasn't Crayak's territory though... 

"How do you like your eggs?" Mauricia asked him as she poured a little vegetable oil into the frying pan., it immediately began to sizzle. She gestured with the two eggs she had in her hand. 

"Raw," the Drode automatically answered. He actually did like eggs, though the ones he was used to were slightly bigger than chicken eggs. They also had the habit of belonging to endangered species and/or, when it was possible, a sentient being. Not that that happened often, the Ellimist wasn't _that_ incompetent. 

Mauricia laughed at what she took to be a joke and the Drode looked up with a blink. He remembered that humans generally liked their food cooked, which was probably a good thing since most of it was diseased anyway. The Drode shrugged. "I don't care. I'll try anything once," he said, and he would--as long as someone tried it before him. 

"Scrambled then, I hope you don't mind a few burns," Mauricia nodded, turning to crack the eggs on the side of the pan. The yolks slid into the pan and began to sizzle and she through the shells away. "We only have a few things to drink right now, water, milk, orange juice. Do you like coffee?" 

"Water is fine," the Drode answered shortly. He mulled over his situation, wondering exactly how he had managed to come to this place. Not just the kitchen he was now sitting in, but just being human at all. The Ellimist of course. He knew the answer, he was just having a hard time believing it. 

Crayak had been about to kill him... 

Why? 

The Drode had failed him... 

How? 

The Drode thought over it and drudged up the memory of the incident. A foggy memory of a monstrous part-flesh, part-machine beast came to mind. He recalled it fighting an andalite, Visser 3 of course. The idiot had actually thought he might win against a creature with the mighty Crayak's influences running though its veins. The beast had changed form with ease to accommodate whatever morph the fool had taken, he could have easily crushed him... until... 

Who was the beast? Someone the Drode knew all to well... it was on the tip of his tongue... he knew he knew... 

The fogginess of the memory the Drode realized. His mind... it was acute, retaining information for years. It was a crystal clear date bank and with the incident he was trying to recall, it should have been like it was happening right there and now. But it wasn't, he could barely recall it. Tampered with, his mind had been tampered with. The creature was most likely one of the andalite bandits, or a human. He knew some of them were human, though not how many. The Ellimist had said he would erase such memories, the Drode hated him for it. Of his power, his body... his mind being delved into left him feeling most violated. It was _his_, all his. 

The Drode remember the creature had been just about to murder the stupid yeerk, Crayak had been just about to win, when... It had stopped. It had decided to spare Visser 3, no, it had decided against excepting Crayak's power. It had decided it had not wanted to become Crayak's servant... 

Idiot. 

"What are you thinking about?" a voice suddenly interrupted his thoughts. The Drode looked up, slightly startled. It was the female human, Mauricia, who was looking curiously at the Drode. 

"Nothing," the Drode shrugged, nothing that could possibly concern the so-called guardian the Ellimist had given him. 

"Oh, alright then," Mauricia said, the sides of her mouth twitched downwards, but she let it go. She sensed that the Drode, Damien, had a lot on his mind, but she knew she couldn't just butt in to his affairs. She was curious, but she wasn't naturally a brown-noser. Maybe when she got to know Damien better... "Eggs are done," she said instead. 

Mauricia set the eggs, as well a lightly-browned piece of toast, in front of the Drode. She then went and returned with a glass of tap water for him as well. After seeing to the Drode, she settled down in a chair opposite of the Drode, meticulously sipping a mug of dark-colored coffee. She pulled a book from a nearby counter after a glance at the Drode, deciding he was not in the mood for chitchat. 

The Drode stared at the eggs, blinking once. They didn't look particularly appetizing... 

Eh. 

He picked up the fork next to the plate and took a fork full. He might not know everything there was to being human, but he wasn't helpless after all. Humans ate much the same as Howlers, except they were noisier. At least the Howlers settled down to eat and not to talk. They had better things to do, and so did the Drode for that matter. Though exactly _what_ he wasn't sure. The Drode then put the yellow-scramble muck into his mouth with only a brief disgusted glance at it. He blinked. 

Wasn't bad. Wasn't the best thing he'd ever eaten, but it was definitely different from anything else he had ever tried. He might see why an andalite could go a little nuts... then again probably not. The Drode refused to put himself in the same category as an _andalite_. 

The Drode ate the eggs, never mind the strange color, finished them and began cutting the toast into pieces with the side of his fork. Mauricia looks up curiously, interested to see the Drode's precise manners. Not what she would expect from a teenager with a troubled history. Of course, the Drode was much more than a troubled teen, but _she_ didn't know that. The Drode finished off the toast, put the fork down, and picked up the glass of water. He tipped it up and drank the entire glass in one long drink. He then put the glass down, wiped his lips with the side of his hand, and looked up at Mauricia. "There's an excessive amount of iron in your water," he commented. 

Mauricia blinked. "Sewage lines haven't gone through quite yet so we get water from our well. Lots of iron, but then again, no chlorine," she informed him. The Drode shrugged. 

"Better iron then chlorine. At least it does _some_ good," the Drode simply said. He then folded his arms, leaned back in his chair, and stared at Mauricia. 

"That's true," Mauricia agreed. She met the Drode's gaze uncomfortably. "Well... what do you like doing for fun?" she asked, hesitating slightly. 

The Drode thought about the question carefully, he considered telling her what he really liked doing for fun, but decided against it. He wasn't quite ready yet to really alienate his pet foster family so far. So he simply shrugged. "I don't know. What do _you_ do for fun?" he asked. He meant the question to be rhetorical, unfortunately Mauricia did not realize it. 

"Well, I like going shopping and talking with my friends, I like working at my part-time job, um, I enjoy reading, I also do a little writing on the side, just for fun though. I also volunteer to help care for the toddlers at our church once a month, it can be fun but it can also get pretty hectic!" Mauricia chuckled, the Drode didn't find quite what was so funny, but was pleased to find out his earlier hypothesis was true. 

"How generous of you," the Drode commented dryly. 

"Not really. I used to volunteer twice a month, but it was just a little too much for me. They would put me in with the infants for first service and that always raised trouble," Mauricia grinned, almost as dryly. 

"Not a morning person?" 

"Oh no, I'm as early bird-like as a person can get, it's Bob that has trouble. He can't _stand_ getting up so early in the morning." 

"He's not a religious man?" 

"No, he just prefers getting up for second service instead. He says the extra couple hours of sleep really do help." 

"Oh." 

Both Mauricia and the Drode fell silent for a moment. 

"Well, would you like me to show you around the house?" Mauricia asked hesitatingly. 

"Why not?" the Drode shrugged, his words sincere enough, though the tone in his voice was sincerely dry. 

  
  


_To Be Continued..._

Hey, I don't suppose you can tell when I got bored, can you? I'm using up all my self-will here. I reeeally want to get the Drode to school (heh), but I know better than to hurry into it. If I hurry through the story with Mauricia and Bob, then I'm going to ruin the story. I KNOW better than to hurry through a storyline, better to take your time then do that, right? 

Right. 

Anyhoo, Mauricia volunteers at church with the toddlers, this is slightly based on experience considering I do the same thing. Twice a month I help take care of the 1-2 yr. olds for either first or second service. Unlike Mauricia however, I am not an early bird, I am a night owl, and I'm as night owly as a person can get. Problem is, they _always_ put me with the infants once a month during first service. So far, I've gotten out of handling any infants because they usually come during second service but geez... Just working with the 1-2 yr. olds is enough for me, gah. Especially when we get a lot of kids during a particular service... and then, you have to factor in the equation that a lot of these kids are at the point where they can't bear to leave their mommies and daddies, so then you have a lot of _crying_ kids. 

And I hated babysitting even before this. 

I really need to find a better way to volunteer at church. Maybe I can do a comic strip or something for the kids group (elementary school grades), it'd be a lot less nerve-frying. 

Uggh... well stay tuned for the return of Non-Interactive 6.0!!!, since it will be making a comeback in the next couple of weeks or so. Almost got the next two chapter done so I suppose I'll be making a couple of people happy. And Steve might gain a personality!!! Been having trouble fitting him in, sorry Hurricane! 

The Drode... well I'm sure more craaaazy stuff will happen to him in the next chapter... or not. I don't know, I might do some _slight_ fast forwarding, but only when it's absolutely necessary of course. This isn't _24_ after all. Oh, and the Drode's hair stays brown, why? Because he's a prick and good things can't happen to him... and possibly because I'm a real jerk. Heh... 

_Thank you, thank you and good night._


End file.
